


The Morning After

by 1000PaperCranes



Series: The One Where Coulson is Dead So Clint Will Have to Do [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Cares, M/M, Morning After, Not IM3 CA:tWS M:AoS Compliant, Protective Clint, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000PaperCranes/pseuds/1000PaperCranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's not sure what happened, but he's pretty sure it's supposed to be the other way around.  Somehow, he's not surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Un-Beta'd - I do my best. If anyone finds a mistake or would like to volunteer for the job let me know.
> 
> Um... Not mine. Yeah, duh.

Tony is… not okay. The bed is cold, the room is empty, and he is definitely alone. _Why_ he is alone, he's really not sure, because Steve's not that kind of guy. Tony's not that kind of guy, either. Sure he'd bit back at people like Christine Everhart, who were just using him, by abandoning them for the garage or the lab or the workshop, but someone genuine got the whole deal ‒ minus breakfast, because Tony really can't cook. He remembers one particular girl: she had sat at his kitchen counter and squeezed them fresh orange juice. She had really fantastic hands, almost as large and strong as Steve's. And _oh, God_ , that hurts.

He rubs absently at the arc reactor, checking the clock. It's 4:45 in the morning, they can't have fallen asleep much more than three hours ago, so there's no reason for the other man to be gone. As a genius or as a business owner, sometimes Tony had to leave. His mind would scream and his hands and feet would itch and before he knew it he was working; but JARVIS would tell him when his partner of the night awoke and if he couldn't pull himself away, his AI would relay a good morning message and a sincere explanation. Then there were the times when it was business and Pepper would dump him in the bathroom, before waking his guest and prodding them along out of the house, to the tune of an apology and a town car.

Thinking of Pepper hurts too, but not so much in the face of rejection from Captain America. Steve Rogers wasn't just someone, he knew Tony, as a person, not a tabloid representation or blog-born scandal, a real live person. Tony had fallen into monogamy with Pepper without blinking, instantly and easily. Steve knew that. And even if he thought it was a fluke, like Pepper had initially, the man had his own reputation. Steve Rogers had still been waiting for the right partner when he became Captain America, and by all accounts had taken things so slowly when he found her that he died with nothing but a single kiss.

Tony doesn't even warrant a _goodbye_.

He rolls out of bed to shower quickly and viciously. He forces himself to think about someone else, and not Pepper either. His mind falls on Katie, and his three nights with her. He hadn't even tried to sleep, jet lag working backwards against him and the sex feeding him with energy on top of the requisite insomnia. Instead, he'd leaned over and kissed her cheek. 'Sleep,' he'd said. 'I'm just gonna go…' he'd flexed the fingers of both hands as an illustration, 'invent something.' In the morning, she made him coffee, and stood calmly on the other side of the glass until JARVIS got his attention. The coffee had come with a minty kiss and a smile. Tony had only lasted until noon, before he'd called her. The next two days had been wonderfully the same. Katie, a high-speed business rail conductor, had died at 4:54 on a Thursday, their day four, in a derailment. She saved nineteen different lives, seven of them children, before succumbing to smoke inhalation and blood loss. He'd been devastated.

The memories were bitter sweet; he was never going to see that smile again, or one of those stupid bow ties, or settle his fingers in the chain of her pocket watch. Overnight, a shot of peppermint became the remedy for bad coffee and copper colored bobby pins his favorite accessory. He smiled as he scrubbed the bottom of his foot, this was her soap, too. It had been coincidence that he'd had that purple bar of gritty mechanic's soap in his shower when Katie was there, but it was certainly intentional now.

He's feeling much better by the time he wraps his towel around his waist. Tony sticks the blunt end of his razor in his mouth, like he does every morning, and wipes off the mirror.

There's a large, angry bite mark on his neck. A perfect double crescent, made by straight white teeth. Something painful rips through Tony's stomach. He spits the razor into the sink. Steve had marked him. High and bold for everyone to see, and he didn't care. Probably _because_ he didn't care. That was… humiliating, actually.

Wanting to look as little like the worthless man _Captain America_ fucked last night as possible, Tony shaves his face clean. When he's done, he doesn't regret the impulse. He hunts up a fresh undershirt, button down, underpants, and trousers, all while avoiding the mirror. Trussed up in his corporate armor, Tony heads out to face the day.

Which means he goes in search of coffee.

Which was a stupid plan. Clint is in the kitchen, that's… fine. So's Cap. That's bad. No; that's fine, too. He just going to pour a cup of coffee, leave the room, and go call Happy. Pepper's in town, which means Happy's in town and even if the last person he wants to see next is Pepper, he can still lay low in the front seat with Happy. Happy never judged him, just like Katie.

Speaking of judging him, Clint and Cap are doing a heavy dose of it right now.

And there's no coffee. Tony's already making it, going through the motions without thought, but he's still going to have to wait here for it to brew. He can feel Clint's eyes on him, and pretending there's nothing to see has never been his strong suit. Tony crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter. Cap is studiously eating a bowl of corn flakes. Clint is staring straight at him with an unexpected look of commiseration on his face. It is still and silent, except for the determined destruction of a bowl of cereal and the hissing of the coffee pot.

Out of nowhere Tony says: "You know, I probably would have married Katie."

And Clint, because he's a _rocket scientist_ , just asks mildly, "What did she do different?"

"Brought me coffee," Tony smiles at Clint, "in the shop." He nearly mentions JARVIS making her wait outside the sealed door until Tony had come up for air out of his tinkering, and how she didn't _mind_ it, but Clint has read it in the fond set of his face, and is already asking:

"Why didn't you?"

"She—" Tony doesn't have a lie, or caffeine, so the truth comes out, a little hushed for its trouble, "died." Clint looks sympathetic, but doesn't say anything. Tony looks down, studying the anti-pattern in the kitchen marble.

Steve just leaves.


	2. Falling Asleep

Tony's still staring at the counter when he hears Clint get up. He tries not to flinch when the archer tilts his head, examining the mark. And somehow Clint _knows_ , because "Did Steve do that?" so quietly.

"Yes," Tony hisses and clenches his eyes against the slowly building urge to cry. Clint's fingers gently examine the circle of tiny violet bruises and the thick welt coming up beneath them.

"Anything else?" Clint tries to look him in the face, but Tony can't hold his eyes.

"There are," he licks his lips, "bruises." How is he only just realizing how _rough_ Steve was with him?

Clint doesn't ask any more questions. He just leads Tony out of the kitchen and down to his floor. Tony doesn't notice the materials he used especially to suit the archer or the gratifying lack of changes the other man has made. He doesn't notice the additions either: pictures in frames, shoes by the couch, a gym bag. He watches Clint disappear through a door and return with a first aid kit.

Tony is silent, as Clint removes his oxford and meticulously cleans the livid wound on his throat, even though the skin is intact. He is passive when the archer peels his T-shirt off and carefully prods at a handprint spanning one side of Tony's ribcage. There is an almost bloody looking hickey on his abdomen. Clint cleans it too, grimacing when Tony whimpers quietly at a bloom of unexpected pain.

It isn't until the archer is unfastening Tony's pants that the genius realizes the other man is still in his sleep clothes. There's something inviting about Clint's bare feet sticking out from a pair of flannel pants. Before he knows it, Tony is tipping forward. His head falls on Clint's strong shoulder, hands fisting in the careworn 75th Regiment T-shirt.

Clint just holds Tony in the stillness as the morning slips away. If Tony cries, he doesn't know, and Clint doesn't say. Eventually, Tony steps back and Clint resumes his methodical examination. The four parallel scratches on the outside of his thigh only sting slightly when wiped with an alcohol swab, so Tony is completely unprepared for the stab of pain when Clint runs one of the pre-moistened squares over an answering scrape on the inside of his thigh. The sensitive skin tingles uncomfortably from knee to groin.

Clint finishes examining down to the blackening bruise wrapped around the bottom, outside, and top of Tony's right foot, before the unhappy buzzing subsides. Kneeling between his feet, Clint gives Tony an empathetic look as he reaches up, gently prompting the genius to turn around.

Tony's face _burns_ while the agent carefully examines his anus. Tony doesn't think he's been damaged there, but he also didn't know that no less than thirty thousand nerve endings had been gouged out of his inner thigh. He's grateful when Clint moves on without a word. The archer touches several small sore places over the expanse of Tony's back. Finally, after he slowly combs his fingers backwards through thick dark hair, Clint closes the first aid kit and puts it away.

When he returns again, Clint is carrying a change of clothes. Even though Tony's were perfectly clean, he puts them on without a word. The soft, loose pajama bottoms don’t irritate his hurts and the oversize sweatshirt smells like fabric softener and lime. Tony turns around to see Clint inking off notations on a detailed medical diagram. He doesn't understand most of the characters, but he can see where the archer has marked the hand shaped bruise developing around his upper arm.

For several minutes Clint puts pen to paper, quickly and precisely noting down every mark on the anatomically correct stand-in for Tony's body. Without looking up, he caps the pen and sets the clipboard aside. Clint leans his forearm on his knee and rubs the other hand over his face, sighing. After another minute of effective silence, Clint sighs again, standing, and pulls Tony over to the couch.

With some gentle coaxing, Tony lays down with his head in the archer's lap. The apartment is quiet, but somehow not oppressive. Clint's warm, gentle hand is carding through Tony's hair, massaging his scalp. Tony watches dust motes drift in a shaft of morning sunshine, until he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't decided where this is going, if it's going. I love Stony, really, but MCU Steve is a jerk, and something sweet might be happening here with Clint.


End file.
